Chapter Twenty-One
Marcus
For the first time in his eternal life, Marcus felt ancient. When Annie had died, he’d soldiered on. His brothers had left him, but he’d never once considered what he knew he would do next.
End it all.
The ending was written on his brothers’ faces as well. They would find Briar, and then, perhaps they’d travel south. Perhaps they’d go so far south, the sun never set. Then they’d wait for the medicine to wear off, and they’d burn.
The way Briar had burned.
His beautiful girl’s ruined face would be the last thing he saw when he closed his eyes. It was the only thing he saw now—swollen eyelids, blistered skin.
They flew away from the warehouse without looking back. Sylvain was the best tracker, and he followed the trail now. It snaked next to the Charles, west, toward his home.
Home.
There was no home anymore without Briar. Nothing. There was nothing.
In a fog, he trailed after Sylvain. Valen was behind him, urging him forward when he slowed. He hadn’t even realized he’d stopped until his brother pushed him. “Go, Marcus. Keep going.”
Marcus shook his head. What was he doing?
Briar. Find her.
That’s right. The soldiers had taken her body.
Marcus glanced down at his own body, expecting to see his chest gaping open. He thought, when he looked at himself, he’d see his heart beating slowly, and he could touch it with his hand so he could scream in pain.
Briar hadn’t screamed. She’d walked into the sunlight, and the sun had burned her, but she’d gritted her teeth and kept going. How had she done that?
Brave girl. All to save them when they didn’t want to be saved. None of them wanted a life without her.
“This way,” Sylvain growled. It struck Marcus that each time Sylvain spoke, it was the predator who gave voice. Their youngest brother, the one who tried to hide how much he felt, how hurt he’d been, tracked something Marcus couldn’t see.
He glanced at the sky as he raced after Sylvain. It was sunny. Not a good day for Briar. She’d have had to cover herself from head to toe. He’d have brought her to school, walked her to class. Maybe today he’d have sat with her, ignoring his own work at his lab.
Where were they? This place looked familiar. It was Back Bay. There was the Hilton. Marcus’s home was not far. Why would the soldiers go to his home? Didn’t they know their survival depended on staying away from Marcus and his brothers? He had no qualms ripping them apart. He’d take out anything and anyone who got between him and Briar. He’d do it in front of cameras, in front of humans. He didn’t care.
Marcus didn’t care about anything anymore.
Sylvain slowed, head canted to one side. He paused, listening. Marcus paused as well, but he didn’t hear anything except the humans going about their morning business—starting cars, pouring coffee, yelling goodbyes to family.
“What is it?” Valen asked, voice low and broken. Valen didn’t sound like Valen anymore. His voice was rough, as if he’d screamed and screamed and screamed and ruined his throat.
Maybe he had. Marcus couldn’t remember.
Sylvain shook his head. “Nothing.” He glanced around the street, took a step forward, and stopped. “I’ve lost it, the trail. I need to go back.”
And they set off again.
All day long they followed a trail that started, stopped, disappeared, and doubled back. Whoever Sylvain tracked knew someone was behind them. Over and over, the trail led back to Marcus’s house before stopping cold. They searched the house, thinking someone was inside, but there was nothing.
Nothing except Briar’s lingering scent.
“I need to go back,” Sylvain muttered as they gathered in the living room after searching from attic to cellar.
“It’s pointless,” Valen stated. “They’re leading us on. There’s nothing here.”
“They’re gone?” Hudson collapsed. There was no other word for it. His legs gave out, and he sat on the floor, knees drawn up like a child. “She’s gone?”
“No,” Marcus got out. “No. We keep searching.”
But Sylvain looked at him, gaze filled with what Marcus didn’t want to accept. She was gone. They didn’t even have her body.
They had nothing.
“So let’s go,” Marcus whispered. He glanced up. Each of his brothers studied him, waiting for him to elaborate. “Let’s go south. To Mexico. To the desert. And we’ll wait there.”
Sylvain nodded first, and then Valen, and finally Hudson.
“We’ll go to the desert and wait for the sun,” Hudson said. “Who knows what Asher dosed us with? Maybe it’ll be faster than we expect.”
Marcus pushed himself to stand. When had he sat? There was nothing to pack, no notes to send. They filed through the house toward the back door. They’d run. No one said it, but Marcus knew that was what they’d do. None of them wanted comfort, they wanted to exert themselves to exhaustion.
Before reaching the door, however, Sylvain paused. Marcus hadn’t been paying attention and tripped into Valen, who steadied him. Even heartbroken and ready for death, Valen cared for him.
“Do you hear that?” Valen asked.
In a flash, Sylvain ripped the door open. It was night and Marcus hadn’t realized it. There, curled up at the door like a puppy was a girl. Her scent hit Marcus first. Wildflowers, sunshine, the sea, ice, heat, and apple blossoms. It was all of those scents.
Snowflakes caught in the girl’s hair, covering the back of her head as she rested her face against her knees.
Sylvain dropped to the ground like a stone, catching himself on his hands. “Briar?”
Marcus heard the name, smelled her, but still his brain wouldn’t recognize her. Impossible. If it wasn’t true, he would die right here.
But then the girl sat up straight. Pale skin, gold freckles, a crescent shaped scar beneath her eye, blue eyes like a summer sky, fine, light brown hair that whipped around her head when the wind blew.
Briar.
Marcus gripped the doorframe to keep from collapsing. His fingers sunk past the wood into the lath and plaster, but he still fell. He heard the crack as he raked the wall, and then he was eye to eye with her.
Her blue eyes filled with tears as she glanced between them. Hesitantly, she lifted her hand, but not to touch him, no. She wrapped that hand around her throat and sucked in a breath before speaking. “Marcus. I’m thirsty.”